…Introducing Sherlock's parents! They will appear more in following chapters. Sorry for the short chapter; I'm having a difficult time spacing the story out.
John had stepped out of the ICU for only a few minutes; he was looking to find some somewhat decent coffee but to no avail. He settled on some from the downstairs waiting room. He also grabbed a couple bags of pretzels, expecting Mycroft to be hungry.
When he reentered the ICU, he saw a man and a woman standing at the end of Sherlock's bed. Sherlock wasn't looking directly at them, most likely because the woman was crying. The man held her. John only heard part of what he said.
"…don't know how this happened. Sherlock, who did this to you?" The man seemed completely astounded.
Meanwhile, the woman was sobbing convulsively into his shoulder. John heard comments of my baby and oh my god being uttered.
"Mummy, I'm fine," repeated Sherlock for the umpteenth time. "You didn't need to come all the way here."
"Honey, you can't even move! Do not tell me that you are fine because you clearly are not!"
"You cannot use a negative word twice in a sentence," the teen muttered, appearing bored.
"Son, don't talk to your mother like that. You are going to tell us everything that happened," his father said sternly.
"Father, I'll tell you," said Mycroft. The two brothers shared a brief look and Sherlock gave a small sigh of relief, knowing his secret was safe.
The three stepped outside, completely ignoring John. John plopped down into his usual chair and tossed a bag of pretzels to Sherlock, who had skipped the past two meals.
"Was your therapist upset you had to reschedule your meeting?" asked Sherlock, who successfully managed to open the bag with one hand.
"Actually- wait, how do you know I have a therapist? Did Harry tell you?"
"No, but you have a psychosomatic limp, so obviously you have a therapist. You deliberately checked that your phone was in your pocket before you left, meaning you needed to contact someone. It wasn't too far of a leap. I was right, wasn't I?"
"Yeah, it's just…" John couldn't seem to find the right words.
"We're not used to having a psychic around," explained Harry. "It's creepy."
"I'm not psychic, there's no such thing. But I- I think I understand what you're saying," Sherlock said. He seemed surprised to understand others for once.
At this point, his parents came back in the room. His father, noticing the two untouched lunch trays, narrowed his eyes. "Sherlock, when was the last time you ate?"
"I just ate," he said, which technically was the truth.
"I mean a meal, not a few pretzels."
"Uh… I don't know. These damn drugs are messing with my sense of time. I don't even know how long I've been here."
"Don't talk like that!" scolded his mother. "Sherlock, sweetie, please try and eat. You're very sick and you need your strength."
"I'm not sick, I'm injured," corrected the boy. "There's a difference. And this food is disgusting. I'm not hungry, either."
"I'll make him eat, father," said Mycroft.
"Kiss ass," Sherlock muttered under his breath. They didn't seem to hear. "I take it that you two aren't staying long?"
They didn't even ask for an explanation as to why he knew that; they looked guiltily at each other. "Sweetie, this business trip will be over in a few days. You'll have to stay here for a while, anyways… I'm so sorry, but this meeting is important," said his mother. "We'll be back as soon as possible- promise."
Sherlock remained expressionless, not even hinting at an emotion. This wasn't the first in a series of disappointments, and it sure as hell wouldn't be the last.
SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH
Sherlock's parents and Mycroft left to discuss treatment options with the doctor. Sherlock's face remained impassive. John tried to think of something to stay, but couldn't.
"They're not bad parents," Sherlock defended.
"I know," said John. He tried to sound convincing, if not for himself then for Sherlock.
"They just… prioritize rationally. That's all it is," the more he tried defending them, the more desperate he sounded.
"I know," he repeated.
Sherlock's eyes grew increasingly heavy. He didn't even bother trying to fight against them; there was no reason.